


Those Stylish Clothes You Wear

by elliebird



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Kissing, Lap Sex, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Polyamory, le tracksuit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13510458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliebird/pseuds/elliebird
Summary: Inspired byle tracksuit en rouge.This was written in a flurry, it's a little rough around the edges.





	Those Stylish Clothes You Wear

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the title, Nelly.

“You’re never taking that off, are you?” Timmy had said with a laugh when Armie sauntered into the hotel room where the press junket was being held, wearing the same black Adidas tracksuit that had caused grown men to lose their minds and dedicate actual news columns to Armie’s newfound love of nineties athletic wear.

Armie had flashed a grin, pleased at the attention and always eager to stir the pot. “Why not? It’s comfortable.” 

Anyone else might have looked like an incredible idiot, but the damn track suit made Timmy want to say to hell with press and get Armie alone for as long as it took to stop wanting so much. He had a terrible, niggling suspicion that the answer was eternity. 

In the morning, Timmy meets up with Armie at the hotel before they’re expected at the latest screening. Elizabeth passes him in the hallway and slips him a key card with a kiss on the cheek. “Have fun, love,” she says with a wink and then, over her shoulder, “try and wear him out for me.” 

Timmy lets himself into the room. It’s beautifully opulent, the kind of place he’ll never get used to but always appreciates. He hangs up his coat and finds Armie in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. Thankfully, the track suit from yesterday is gone. It’s been replaced with an identical one in red. 

Timmy leans against the door jamb and watches Armie. He’s got a full beard again, which Timmy fully admits to missing, from the way it feels beneath his fingertips, against his cheek when they’re making out, the burn of it against the inside of his thighs when Armie’s feeling playful. 

Armie grins at him around his toothbrush when he catches sight of him. “Morning,” he says, all breezy confidence that does as much to arouse Timmy as the sight of him shirtless in just those ridiculous nylon pants. 

“Looks like Elizabeth’s been enabling your latest whim,” Timmy says with a nod in Armie’s direction. He can’t help letting himself look. Armie’s barefoot, the cuffs of his pants covering just the tops of his feet. The material leaves nothing to the imagination and the sight of Armie’s thick, muscular ass in that flashy material has Timmy already hard. 

“I don’t deserve her,” Armie says, solemn for a half second before his face breaks into that same sappy grin he gets anytime his wife is mentioned. He rinses his toothbrush, setting it aside before rinsing out his mouth and finishing his routine. 

Timmy loves these quiet, domestic moments as much as he loves nights like the one before, drunk on good wine and the exhilaration of being out together in Paris, or Rome, the three of them together under the noses of an oblivious public. 

Armie wipes his hands on a towel and reaches for Timmy, already pushing his cool hands beneath Timmy’s t-shirt, the touch of his fingertips on his skin making him want to melt into him until they’ve become one.

Timmy lets out a huff of air as Armie wraps an arm around his waist and lifts him off his feet as if he weighs nothing. He laughs against Armie’s temple where he’s warm and smells so familiar; that sexy, heady combination of _Vert Boheme_ and verbena soap. 

He loves the reminders of how much bigger Armie is, in all ways, from his height and the width of his waist to the size of his hands where they cup Timmy’s hips and how effortlessly he manhandles him. 

“My big manly man,” Timmy laughs, clinging like a limpet to Armie’s shoulders. Armie’s chuckle is low and amused, a vibration that Timmy feels rumble through him. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Timmy breathes. It’s not entirely true - they have a couple of hours before they’re due to meet Elizabeth but it’s not enough. It doesn’t matter, they could have forever and Timmy would still want longer. 

Timmy’s expecting to be unceremoniously tossed on the bed and he can’t hold back his surprise when Armie settles in the plush, overstuffed armchair by the balcony doors where sunlight’s streaming in. He splays his legs out in front of him, a perfectly beautiful invitation, and tugs Timmy into his lap. 

“I don’t need long,” Armie drawls. He rests his head against the back of the chair, watching as Timmy settles his legs underneath him on either side of Armie’s hips. 

Making out with someone in a tracksuit is a strange feeling. The material is slick and slippery beneath his thighs and he can feel that Armie isn’t wearing a thing underneath. 

Timmy has a dozen Armie-related weaknesses but kissing is at the top of the list. Armie is a dedicated, focused kisser, thorough and inventive, distracting Timmy with hands sliding down his back, sucking Timmy’s tongue into his mouth until Timmy pauses to catch his breath and realizes in the space of a few minutes of heated kissing, Armie’s divested him of his shirt and is working on getting him out of his slacks. 

Timmy gets to his feet, rids himself of his clothes with little finesse and climbs back into Armie’s lap. Armie palms his ass, the press of his thick, hard cock rocking against him in all of that slippery nylon is enough to get him to the edge. He shifts on his knees until the angle is right and he’s got the ridge of Armie’s cock pressed right up behind his balls. When he rocks his hips, his own dick, rock hard and already dripping come, slides against Armie’s belly. He goes completely still, terrified he’s going to come. He always comes too fucking quick with Armie, with Elizabeth, with both of them. He’s thankful for his recovery time or he’d never live it down. 

“You’re shameless,” Timmy mumbles, letting his head fall forward, his hair in his eyes. Armie’s tugged the waist of his pants down, pulling out his cock and smearing the slick head of it against Timmy’s asshole. He shudders all over as the wet tip nudges up right behind his balls, an intense pleasure shooting through him. 

Armie huffs a laugh. “Who would blame me, hmm?” He’s rubbing the tips of his fingers in circles at the small of Timmy’s back, something he’s done since the first time they made out behind Luca’s house when they gave in to the heat between them and did something about it. It turns Timmy on without fail every single time. 

The first time Timmy ever took a cock was in Crema nearly two years ago, helplessly turned on and a little terrified. He’d spent the last hour in Armie’s bed in his tiny, rented apartment, face down and biting his lip to keep from begging as Armie worked him open on his fingers until finally he fucked Timmy open with just the head of his cock. 

Timmy can take almost all of Armie these days. He’s not quite expecting it, though, when Armie breaches him, just the tip working him open. 

“Oh fuck,” Timmy hisses. Armie loves to tease but he’s also constantly careful of pushing Timmy beyond his comfort. He goes still, letting him adjust to the intrusion and leans forward to suck a sweet kiss to the hollow of Timmy’s throat. 

“Okay?” The sound is low and soothing against his sensitive skin, a rumble of sensation rippling through him. 

It hurts like this, given the girth of Armie’s cock and the lack of stretching beforehand. But Armie likes to watch him and Timmy always comes hardest when he’s seated on Armie’s cock, after the pain of the stretch has dissolved and blossomed into a pleasure so intense it steals the air from his chest. 

The kiss at his throat morphs into a trail of lips up the underside of his jaw, into Armie seeking and finding his mouth, open and wet as he gasps for breath and struggles not to come a minute in with just Armie’s cockhead splitting him open. 

Beneath him, Armie’s tightly in control with a hand wrapped around himself and the other holding Timmy immobile with a tight grip on his hip. Timmy breathes through the discomfort, the ache bleeding away into a blinding pleasure. 

He shoves a hand into Armie’s hair and holds him there, breathing hard into Armie’s mouth, not so much a kiss as it is the sharing of breath. His thighs ache from this angle and he’s so turned on his body doesn’t feel like his own. 

“You feel fucking _good_ ,” Armie whispers into Timmy’s mouth. “You look good too, sitting on my cock.”  


“I’m going to come if you don’t stop talking,” Timmy breaks off to shudder as Armie shifts lower into the chair, switching up the angle so his cockhead is tucked up right against his prostate. 

“That’s the point,” Armie drawls, low and easy. And then, because he’s an asshole who knows every single one of Timmy’s weaknesses, he whispers “come on, baby,” and grazes his teeth in the flesh beneath Timmy’s ear. 

That’s all it takes for Timmy to come a beat later all over Armie’s naked belly, a near sob of relief muffled in the warmth of Armie’s shoulder. 

Armie touches him through the after-effects; a big, gentle hand gliding down his flushed back, sweet kisses at the corner of his mouth, the swell of his cheek, the tip of his nose. They sit there for a few, silent minutes, Armie’s cock still breaching him and his own a mess of come. 

“Careful,” Armie encourages as Timmy gingerly lifts up, Armie slipping out of him obscenely, leaving him empty. He’s going to feel this, an ache Armie left behind, for the rest of the day. When they’re answering questions about this movie, no one but a select few knowing that as they portrayed first love, they were living it. 

Timmy’s still hard as he falls to his knees. Beneath him, the carpet is lush and soft and above him, Armie is a golden god of flesh, save for bright red nylon pooled around his thighs. 

“Come on, big guy,” he urges with a tease and a flash of tongue. He touches himself gingerly, testing how sensitive he is and then closes his eyes in utter pleasure as heat rushes through him. 

“Fuck, Timmy,” Armie mutters and Timmy opens his eyes and his mouth in time to catch the first pulse of Armie’s come on his tongue. It lands on his lips and jaw and Timmy takes the rest of it down his throat, sucking the head between his lips as Armie mumbles a string of filth, his hips jerking through the aftershocks. 

A little later, when they’ve caught their breath and Armie’s cleaning himself up with a washcloth, Timmy catches sight of Armie’s reflection in the mirror. His hair is a riot, tufts of it sticking up everywhere, making it look like he’s been doing exactly what they were just doing. 

He smirks. Armie catches him looking and gives him a wink. 

Elizabeth is waiting for them in the lobby. A series of reactions flash across her face in quick succession; surprise, amusement and finally, with a slight roll of her eyes and an affected, put upon sigh, acceptance. 

“You couldn’t talk him into fixing his hair?” she says, touching Timmy’s elbow and leaning into him. “He looks like a teenager.” It’s said with a resigned fondness. 

Timmy laughs at the idea that he, or anyone, could talk Armie into anything. It’s bright and happy and starts somewhere deep in the core of his being. God, he’s so fucking lucky. He looks over at her with a raised eyebrow. 

There’s nothing Armie likes as much as setting gossipy tongues to wagging. Showing up to a press conference in a bright red track suit, with “just fucked hair” is as likely to do it as admitting to the world he’s into a little rope bondage. 

She concedes with a fond shake of her head and a helpless little chuckle. “Of course, what was I thinking.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're into this, let's be friends. I'm on [Tumblr](https://elliebirdthings.tumblr.com/).


End file.
